Page 41 of Untempered
“Because it’s still hers,” she said slowly, as if she were figuring out the answers even as we spoke. “He can’t even say her name.”
I couldn’t read the emotion in her voice. “What was it like, between them?”
She frowned. “I don’t remember a lot. I remember him coming by during the day, taking her upstairs. I remember one night when I went to get in bed with her, he was there. He was more terrifying than whatever dream I’d been running from. I remember she told me…” she trailed off, breathing deeply. “She told me to be very quiet when he was near. She told me—” she smiled, a little, “—to never cry when she was hurt. ‘He wants us to be his, and we are not.’”
I whistled, long and low. “He wouldn’t have liked that at all.”
“He killed her,” she whispered, the words floating like an admission of guilt into the gathering shadows, lurking there.
“I know.” I gripped her arm and watched the tears crawling down her face. I had nothing to give her, no way to alleviate the decades of pain and loss. “And that isn’t your responsibility. You survived. That’s exactly what you should’ve done.”
She sank lower in the water, breathing in deep, her face carved in lines of old, unhealed pain. She said nothing, but her hand wrapped around my forearm, a strong, anchoring grip. She shook. She wept. I sat with her, my heart a desert.
Her mother had thought they were safe here. And mayhap she had no options—mayhap they couldn’t have fled successfully. Look at what had happened, though, when she hadn’t taken that risk. Would the Butcher have killed his own daughter had she not hidden so well? The thought made fury kindle deep in my belly, made my head pound harder. I rested my forehead against hers and felt her shudder.
“He will not have you,” I promised her from the depths of my soul.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
CHAY
“Horses are very responsive to tone. Be consistent.”
~ How to Tame Your Brumby: A Collection of Raider’s Ban Wisdom
My back ached, my still-healing ribs were in agony from spending the day moving chests, and my shoulders were tight from the stress that hadn’t unraveled since last night.Victor breaks everyone.And here I was, firmly in his grasp.
“People’re returning from the tourney.” I glanced out the window, wondering if I’d spot Kadan, following Thomas’ gaze. There was proper glass in the huge opening. There was a film of dust on it for now, but I had no doubt that was temporary.
Two days ago, that tourney had been my life’s ambition. Now, all I could think about were my friends, and whether Luca had made it out alive.
“The Duke’ll arrive soon.”
The Butcher of La’Angi. Fury pulsed at my temples. I forced my hands to unlock from where they’d gone to my sword hilt.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Thomas advised me, quietly. “Your shoulders straight, and your eyes ahead.”
Words to survive by.
I could feel the mud between my fingers.
“He’ll open the door with a crash when he comes in,” Thomas went on, stretching out his back. “Expect it. Don’t preempt what he wants unless you’re very sure. He tolerates questions better than failure.”
All good, even wise, information. It swam in my head. Embers knew her way around a knife. She’d held off Wade and landed a blow to Mikus’ knee that had meant the brute hadn’t totally outpaced me, with my broken ribs and my naive heart in my throat.
But no one had mentioned it. You’d think after the bungled assassination attempts and Mikus’ betrayal, that the Butcher would be crowing about his daughter’s prowess. Instead, there was silence.
Had no one seen?
How?
I followed Thomas back downstairs in time to see her emerge from the room I’d rolled the half-cask into that morning. Wet, her hair looked almost black. The bubbly good cheer had faded, and her tawny eyes looked old and sad.
I almost ran into the wall and took a sharp turn to redirect my body down the stairs. I’d come to her rescue, unnecessarily, and now look where that had gotten us.
Would I be allowed to farewell Kadan?
I took hold of another chest of clothes from where it had been dropped off right outside of Audrey’s tower. Its weight was nothing beside the power of my anger. My shoulders ached from holding myself out of that mud.
